Rewind
by JustlikeWater
Summary: It's been years since Hogwarts and Ron is still stuck in rewind. Angst. Complete.


**Disclaimer: Not Rowling. Don't own Harry Potter. **

**A/N: Hey guys! So before you read, I'll thrown in a little clarification: The bolded writing is Ron's thoughts from a different point in time. Think of it as his 'reflection' of whats going on. Er...that made it more confusing, didn't it? Also, my apologies for any out of character behaviors; I feel like I made the Trio a bit too dark. Oh well. Enjoy the story and please review! ANY comments, criticisms etc are hugely appreciated by yours truly. Thank you! **

Hermione reaches across the table, fingers straining for the sugar bowl. "Ron, would you please pass that to me?" Freckled hands, clumsy with eagerness, are quick to comply. Something about the way his blue eyes shine a bit brighter and his smile beams a shade too sweet hint at something more than friendship, but she doesn't notice. "Are you coming to my- er, me and Harry's Quidditch game today?" She wipes her mouth delicately before responding, "Well, Ronald, I'd love to, but I'll be in the library all day," Brown eyes widen, "In fact, I ought to leave now!" She rises and his smile becomes crooked, like a sign hanging by only one nail. As she walks away from the breakfast table she pauses and looks over her shoulder, "Oh, and Ron?" He raises his eyes, hope daring to bubble up. "It's _Harry and I_. Not _Harry and me_,"

. . .

**He is silent, reaches out to touch her even though he knows he cannot. Speaks, though he won't be heard. Lingers, though he no longer belongs here…**

**. . .**

A prefect's badge, waxed to a shine, is pinned to one Mr. Weasley. Pride and confidence do not flow naturally for him, yet here in this moment where he is -at last- the only one in the spotlight, the only one with congratulations in order, the only one important-for now- they suddenly do. Mrs. Weasley smiles and pulls her youngest son to heart. "We're so proud of you, Ron," she whispers, tears of happiness making her eyes shine. Hermione hugs him and says "Great job, Ron, you deserve it," and he feels light-headed. Even Ginny spares him a grin and thumbs up. He climbs the stairs two at a time. Harry was asleep when he got the letter, and now he can't wait to tell him. Fingers poised to knock; he hears voices from the other side of the door.

"He got a badge?" Harry.

Laughter. "We're about as shocked as you, mate, who woulda' thought little Ronnykins would be a prefect?" The twins.

"I just don't get it," Snort. Disbelief. Mocking. "I mean, it's Ron."

"Maybe Dumbledore lost a bet,"

Laughter.

His fist falls to his side. The once beautiful gold badge feels cheap and ugly.

He rips it off. Hides it.

Pride and confidence will stay buried at the bottom of a drawer, for now.

. . .

**He sees familiar anger and hurt churn in clear blue eyes. Feels currents of it, himself. And yet he leans against the wood, as close as he can get to his best friend and brothers, wishing a door was all that separated them…**

**. . . **

It is fall and the trio is bundled up from hat to boot.  
"Fancy a quick game of Quidditch?" Harry turns to Ron, knowing Hermione will rather watch. "I can round up a few Gryffindors, maybe a couple of Ravenclaws, and we'll make teams, yeah?" Ron nods. A solid year of being Gryffindor's Keeper has given him the confidence to play without trepidation.  
"Let's go." Brooms in hand, teams assembled, He stands sandwiched between Terry and Seamus. "Ron can you grab the beater's bats from the shed?" He nods and heads over. Quaffles…gear…nets…aha bats! Now to just take these back to Har-

Laughter. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, appears in the doorway. Blue eyes narrow. "Get outta here, ferret," Snicker. Smirk. Step, step. "What kind of broom is that, eh weasel? A Cleansweep?" His laugh is cruel. "Wouldn't surprise me. You know, they really shouldn't let penniless blood traitors such as yourself on the field. Taints it, don't you think?" Crabbe and Goyle grunt in agreement. Ron sees red. "Aw, it appears I've angered the weasel," Malfoy smirks. "What are you going to do about it, Weasley? Call on Granger to tell me off? Or perhaps ask Potter to hex me?" Fists clench tight, shaking and flexing in fury. "You and I both know you are nothing without them. Just another worthless red-headed Weasley-" The first punch Ron throws meets it's target flawlessly, thanks to the element of surprise. The others however, do not.

Pain. Fists. Blood.

Goyle holds him down while Crabbe and Malfoy beat him to a pulp.

White stars. Bones. Kicks.

It seems like hours though it is probably mere minutes. They leave him bloody and half conscious on the floor of the shed. "Piss- poor, stupid, and weak?" Malfoy gives him one last kick. There goes a rib. "You really are worthless, Weasley."

Door slams.

Blackness.

. . .

**He would still hate them, if it weren't for the fact that he cannot hate the dead…**

**. . .**

The rain pours in sheets of ice water, and Ron relishes the way it bites at his skin; nips and pricks like tiny jolts of adrenaline. Here, he feels alive. Fingers gripping the handle hard, he nosedives to the ground, flips, twists, white-hot recklessness shooting through his veins. "Mate, what are you doing out here? It's bloody pouring!" Harry has appeared, hovering nearby, glasses askew and blurry with rainwater. Talking and explaining are repulsive at the moment, so his only response is to fly higher. "Ron! What the hell-" The storm clouds are like thick wool, and if it weren't for seeker reflexes and eyes keen on detail, Harry wouldn't have seen his best friend flying upward, straight into the lightning-webbed sky. "Ron!" Now the rain hurts, tiny chips of ice biting and stinging, and yet he continues his upward spike. Faster, and faster still. "RON! STOP!" He feels himself jerk back, a pair of hands that are not his own gripping the end of his broom. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Harry has to shout to be heard, one small voice competing with booms of thunder and deafening rainfall. "HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Blue eyes scream defiance. "Let go, Harry," He is calm, voice barely above normal tones. "WE NEED TO GET TO THE GROUND, IT'S TOO DANGEROUS UP HERE," Ron hovers, and Harry grabs him, "WE NEED TO GO NOW!" Ron yells, anger spilling over like champagne, "I DON'T NEED TO DO ANYTHING, OKAY? YOU DON'T GET TO CONTROL ME TOO," Harry's eyes ripple with hurt and confusion. Ron jerks away from his grip, and everything falls to pieces.

Screaming. Shouting.

Wind, Rain, Lightning.

Two Voices, fading and falling, spiraling downward.

Crash. Broken. Shattered.

Two land, one on a broom,

The other, not.

**. . .**

**Regret, like a pounding hammer, persistent, painful, and perpetual. Memories crash down like waves, and he drowns inside himself all over again.**

**. . .**

They call it a miracle. A fractured skull, shattered bones, blood, pain, and brain damage.

Absolutely nothing compared to the impact his death would have had…he is the boy who lived, how can he possibly die?

Of course, sometime after Harry has been tended to, the blame game begins, and all fingers point to Ron. He says it was an accident, that it could have happened to anyone, even him, but suspicious eyes don't believe. He cries and paces the waiting room like everyone else, but doubt is ever present. At first, they want him convicted, "An attempted murder on the chosen one! Azkaban at the very least!" But Dumbledore vouches for him, comforting hand clapped firmly onto his shoulder, he faces the press unflinching and says simply, "I believe Mr. Weasley."

It cools the fire, but the public only holds silence for so long.

Whispers as sharp as knifes cut across the hallways, dance between desks, hop from mouth to ear and back again. He wishes he could press his palms to his ears and shut it out, but unfortunately the words sink too deep to ignore, and they bounce around his head like a bludger.

_Jealous, always was._

_How could he do that to him? He was his best friend!_

_Wouldn't expect much better from that lunatic, anyway._

_Can you believe I was actually friends him?_

And the worst of it? Harry loses bits of memory, including that night, so for all he knows, Ron did push him off his broom. And every time he sees his best friend, propped up by starched pillows, covered in tubes and bandages and dried blood, he feels a fresh wave of guilt. Not to mention absolute sorrow at the expression of mistrust and barely suppressed anger always marring Harry's face. There is no one to side with him- even Dumbledore maintains a cool distance now- and he's never felt more alone. The twins glare. Ginny cries. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's eyes carry such deep disappointment and shame that he cannot hold their gaze. And when he really thinks about it- really thinks- he asks himself if it was an accident…or not. The worst thing? The answer becomes less and less certain each time.

It is all crumbling, piece by piece; person by person.

Subtle and quiet, yet loud as hell.

**. . . **

**The chill of betrayal and abandonment still haven't completely left his system, even now, and he feels himself falling all over again…**

**. . .**

He fights alongside them, Hermione to his left and Harry to his right, wand in hand, ready to die for his cause. Just like they all imagined. Except, not. Look closer and you see Harry only stands close because he has no other living allies. Hermione gravitates here simply out of duty; they have an image to keep up after all. And Ron? He stands here because illusions of the past are all he has left, now. Years of friendship destroyed, demolished; done. So they fight, together as a trio, yet miles apart; three puzzle pieces now too broken to fit.

It all ends as it should have. Harry kills Voldemort, the wizarding world is saved! Or not. Though the dark lord has fallen and most death eaters either die or sink back into the shadows, the carnage that the war ripped up remains. Smoking battlefields littered with bodies, blood of purity and mud alike splatter the castle walls, and Hogwarts is but a landfill of rubble and death. Missing loved ones remain unknown, presumed dead. Hope is here, yes, but it is a flickering candle flame amidst a hurricane. The chosen one dies, his last act a gift. People mourn, but this was expected; his purpose was to fulfill the prophesy, not to live. Hermione moves away, war and memories too loud for her to concentrate. Even books cannot drown out such things.

And Ron? He lives in the past, watching and re-watching as everything fell apart.

Harry out there, Hermione away, and Ron stuck in a pensieve.

. . .

**Ron lifts his face from the cool surface of his pensieve and runs his fingers through his hair. With a deep shuddering breath, he collapses into a chair and cradles his head in his hands. It's been years since Hogwarts- ****_decades_****- and yet he still watches the same old memories over and over again. He can change nothing and yet it gives him some kind of twisted fulfillment to watch his mistakes. Each and every downfall, every bout of misplaced anger, every second of thoughtless action on constant loop. It physically hurts him to watch as his life unfurled strand by strand, word by word; insignificance blooming into importance, paving the way to a grimmer future. He sees himself in his youth; impulsive, rowdy, angry, and he wishes he could rewind; go back and change. But he cannot. And with that, he pushes himself back in. Because the present is no longer his own; only the past rests at his fingertips and he will not let any more of it slip away.**

**. . .**

Hermione reaches across the table, fingers straining for the sugar bowl. "Ron, would you please pass that to me?"

**A/N: So what did you think? The inspiration to write this came to me when I thought about Ron's insecurities. I think he's always felt inferior to not only his best friends, but his family as well; lost in a sea of red hair with no identity. But anyway, thank you a million times for reading it and if you want to be really ****_really _****awesome you should review! **

**Also: I know I have spacing issues and a few grammar mistakes, and I would LOVE to have a beta, so if anyone knows how to get one, PM me please! Thanks! **


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